Philosophy
by SandrinePenn
Summary: Wilson has a philosophy about House, one that House will do anything to prove wrong.
1. Part One

"That's my philosophy, to say the least," Wilson shrugged, placing his hands on his hips in that "I'm so totally not gay, girlfriend" stance he's mastered over the years. Grunting in his general direction, I looked up from my PSP.

"I'm sorry, were you talking? I swear, I thought I heard you ululating, then I realized that no, that couldn't possibly be so," I spat, tossing the game into a drawer and standing to leave. Rounding the desk, I walked towards the door where Wilson was still planted, now beginning to resemble RuPaul, minus the bad wig.

"I know you were listening. Your eyebrows flickered," he countered, unmoving. I laughed throatily, throwing my head back for effect.

"No, really, I wasn't. Here, I'll tell you what: the next time I come into your office right before you leave and badger you with something totally unimportant, you can ignore me too, okay?" I said, reaching for the door handle as RuWilson took a step to the left, blocking my exit. I was momentarily peeved until I realized that I had another exit a mere five feet to my left. "Toodles," I chirped, turning on the spot and exiting through the office. Escaping down the hallway, I was surprised, pleasantly, that Wilson hadn't chosen to follow me.

Stepping out into the muggy September air, I spied Wilson perched on my bike, coat on and briefcase in hand.

"Hey, get down!" I called, crossing the courtyard as quickly as possible. Sliding off the bike, Wilson stayed at its side until I reached them. "You know, I could have you arrested for harassment."

"Why, because I can get down stairs faster than you can the elevator?

"No, because you're harassing me, duh."

"Look, just stop, okay? I know you heard what I said in there and I know you're thinking about it, so will you just stop?" Wilson asked, his face lined with irritation. Sighing, I mounted my bike and handed Wilson my cane.

"Take care of her, okay?" I said, my voice sarcastically sincere as I kick started my bike.

"I love you. Is it that big a deal?"

Killing the motor, I climbed off the bike and shushed Wilson. "God, someone might hear you," I moaned.

"So? It's not like it's a secret anymore."

"No, but someone might think you're one of the psyche escapees. I think that 'loving Greg House' fits the parameters of psychosis," I whispered conspiratorially. Wilson smiled slightly.

"Then call me crazy," he grinned, handing me my cane. "Let's take my car." Staring at him for a long moment, I scowled.

"No way am I cramping my style with the Volvo. Get on," I said, sliding my cane in the holster and handing Wilson my helmet.

"Yeah, cause the babes love the cane."

"I haven't agreed to anything, you know?" I said as Wilson slid onto the back and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I know. You being unable to commit is a big part of my philosophy." Straining, I turned over my shoulder.

"What was that philosophy again?"

"That you're just miserable enough to fall in love."

"You're an idiot."

"That's the other part of my thinking."


	2. Part Two

"I think that if anything this proves that I was right," Wilson groaned as I ran my tongue along the base of his cock. Grinning as best I could, I slid my hands up his chest, tweaking his nipples along the way. "Oh God," he groaned, allowing his head to fall back against the couch. Taking my lips from his erection, I struggled up onto my knees before pulling him into a wet kiss.

"Actually, I'd venture to say that I'm right," I growled against his tonsils. Moaning as I palmed his burning flesh and began to stroke vigorously, Wilson curled his fingers around my shirt, ensuring that I would be making no speedy get-away's.

"You never made a point to be proven right."

"No, but as it is, I'm always looking for the opportunity, so let's just assume I had something going on in my hea..." I trailed off as Wilson unzipped my pants and freed my own erection from its confines. Closing my eyes, I squirmed up against before pushing him level and lying on top of him, my right leg burning in protest, the pain not yet dulled by endorphins.

"Just shut up," he groaned as his hand continued to do obscene things to me.

From that point on, every action is either too pornographic to recount, or too pornographic to let anyone else in on. My Wilson, not yours.

_"Go away," I grunted as soon as Wilson pushed through the door. Not looking up, I could already tell that he'd had a bad day: on bad days, you can practically hear his conscience screaming at him._

_"Leslie died an hour ago," he said, his voice full of tears. Closing my eyes, sending more than one race car spiraling off the track into oblivion, I breathed deeply, trying to figure out just how I was supposed to handle this._

_"Who?" I asked, looking up, not at all surprised to find Wilson with tear stained cheeks and harried exterior._

_"One of my baldies. She was seven," he choked, sitting heavily and allowing his head to fall into his hands._

_"Bummer," I said, more to myself than anyone else._

_"Yeah, House, you could say that. Bet it's a major bummer to her parents, brother, and friends. But don't worry, they'll deal," he spat. Taken aback, I eyed him for a long moment. As hard as a baldy's death hit Wilson, he never got angry or a shorter fuse. He just got... Wilson-y. Maudlin, morose, pain in my ass, however you want to describe it._

_"Whoa there, Jimmy..."_

_"Don't 'whoa' me, House. She was a little girl, a child, you should be furious that she died!"_

_"Why should I be furious? All it tells me is that you didn't do your job to the fullest. I should be furious with you, you took an oath!" I said, no longer in the mood to satiate his masochist desire to feel pain. "Patients die, Jim, it's half of our job. Patients die, good people die, children die, and it's never fair and it's never right, but it's what happens and too damn bad. We can't save the world if we're constantly trying to save ourselves!"_

_The silence in the room was deafening. _

_"I love you," Wilson stated plainly, his voice shaking slightly. Staring, emotionless, I furrowed my brow._

_"Did I just miss a big chunk of this conversation?"_

_"You're right, House. We can't save the world if we're trying to save ourselves. But we also can't save the world without saving ourselves," he said, standing and wiping his cheeks. "I guess I'm just so used to not feeling that the one time I actually cared, it really hit me hard."_

_"Oh God, now you're delusional."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"'The one time you cared'? Wilson, people **thank you **when you tell them they're dying! You've cried every time one of your patients died since you graduated med school. Yeah, maybe not physically, but you've outdone even Cameron in the angst department, and that, my friend, is saying something. You chap me for being miserable, and yet, you're the most miserable person in the world! It doesn't make you special, Wilson, it just makes you miserable," I finished, utilizing his own words from years ago._

_"You're right," he repeated._

_"I'm shocked," I said, picking my PSP back up._

_"Is it so hard to believe that someone could love you?" he began._

_I stopped paying attention about there._

Turning over painfully onto my side, I was met immediately with a mouthful of hair. Chewing slightly before spitting it out, I propped myself up, confused. Curled up on his stomach was Wilson, naked, and asleep. Squeezing my eyes shut and pinching the bridge of my nose, I struggled to recall the evening's events. Flashes of flesh and sex ran through my mind.

"Ah shit," I groaned, flopping onto my back. "Not again."


	3. Part Three

"Are you busy?" Cameron asked hesitantly, her face bearing its permanent "I don't mean to be a bother, but do these pants make me look fat" look.

"Cameron, I'm at work, where people generally, oh, I don't know, work," I said, not looking up from my crossword puzzle. "Twelve letter synonym for generous?"

"Eleemosynary. There's someone in the lobby here specifically for you, the front desk just called," she said, as I penciled "eleemosynary" into the puzzle, slightly peeved that I hadn't figured it out on my own.

"I don't take appointments. Or patients, really, for that matter."

"She says she's your friend."

"That should have been your first hint that she was lying. Is she hot?"

"I, uh, I..."

"Eh, never mind. 50/50 chance, right?" I asked, picking up the telephone and punching in the front desks extension. "Mary, this is Dr. House. Will you please put whoever it is that wants to ruin my day on the phone? Thank you," I said, rolling my eyes at Cameron.

"It's been a while, Greg," a sultry voice on the other end of the line purred. My face cracked into an immediate smile: I knew that voice.

"Indeed it has Beth. Does Jimmy know you're here?" I inquired, shooing Cameron out with an annoyed wave. Confused, Cameron nodded and exited into the office.

"No, dear, of course not," she laughed. "Listen, Greg, I need a favor. Can I come up and see you?"

"Can we have crazy, hot sex on my desk?"

"Most certainly."

"Then come on up. Oh, you might have to tuck and roll past Wilson's office."

"In my current state, that would be decidedly unwise," she said, hanging the phone up. Mimicking that action, I pushed out of my chair and limped into the office to get a cup of coffee. I, as always, blatantly ignored Cameron.

"Who is she?" she asked after a long moment.

"None of your business," I replied, pouring my coffee, not surprised by Cameron's silence.

"Is she one of your friends or one of Wilson's?" she asked quickly, as if speed in the question would make it less innocuously obtruse.

"We're better friends than she and Wilson, assuredly. Now, go away," I said, waving my mug in her direction.

"This is my office," she said, as she stood to leave.

"Yeah, I know. Go away."

"But..."

"Bon voyage!" I said, opening the door for her. "Now." Sighing, Cameron gathered up her case files and slunk off down the hall, passing an extremely pregnant woman as she came off the elevator.

"You're huge," I stated plainly as the woman approached me.

"And you're rude. Some things never change," she retorted, smiling to reveal perfect white teeth. Grinning, I held the door open for Beth, ushering her into the office before Wilson had a chance to pop out of thin air, as was per to his fashion.

"How have you been Greg?" she asked, sitting down laboriously and leaning back.

"Fantastic, just brilliant."

"Really?" she asked, her eyes unbelieving.

"Yeah! I've got this great job, new bike, I ran a marathon last week... wait, only one of those things is true. How about you? Obviously _something_ good happened," I said, regarding her beach balled stomach over the rim of my mug.

"Things have been relatively good. I wanted to ask you a question concerning this thing," she smiled, patting her stomach.

"Well, you see Beth, when a man loves a woman..."

"I have cancer, Greg. Breast cancer, end stage."

"Ironic."

"You're telling me. I wanted to know if delivering this baby naturally is going to kill me. None of my other doctors would give me a straight answer."

"Yes," I answered immediately, after quickly calculating the risks in my head. Beth's face dropped a little, before turning into a smile.

"That's what I thought you'd say," she whispered, standing again. "It was good to see you again Greg." Extending her hand, I shook it shortly before watching her leave.

"Beth," I called, as she reached the door. She turned and nodded. "Does Wilson know? About the cancer, I mean."

"Goodness, no. We were only married for three years, Greg. Hardly grounds to stay in touch,"

"Yeah," I responded, watching her leave. I waited until the elevator dinged to call Wilson.

"This is Dr. Wilson."

"You sound like a woman, you know that, right?"

"I'll take my chances. What do you need?"

"Come to my office. Bring the chaps, partner."

"Oh Lord..."

FLASHBACK

_"Oh my God, Greg!" Wilson cried as he came, collapsing onto the bed. Grunted loudly, I pounded into him one last time, before reaching my own climax and flopping on my side. Panting, we lay next to each for a long moment, before Wilson rolled out of bed and headed into the bathroom._

_"You'd better hurry up," I said, as I groped around in the dark for my boxers. "It's almost time to go. Hate to be late for you own wedding." Wilson laughed bitterly from the bathroom._

_"Yeah, Beth would hate that."_

END FLASHBACK


	4. Part Four

It isn't easy for me to move faster than, oh, I want to, but as I limped down the hallway next to Cuddy, who was all out running, you'd never know I was in agony. Well, you know, except for the fact that I kept screaming out in pain occasionally.

"Ah, shit!" I groaned as we turned the corner into the ER. Breaking away from me, Cuddy hurried up to Cameron, who was covered in blood, presumably not hers.

"What happened?" she asked, placing her hands on Cameron's arms. Finally catching up, I was able to see Foreman on the gurney over her shoulder.

"We were at O'Hagan's getting a drink and he just vomited all of a sudden," she said shakily.

"Yeah, that's how it happens. Why are you covered in blood?" I asked as I popped another Vicodin.

"He vomited blood."

"Oh, well, now see, that changes everything. You need to get better at both taking and giving histories Cameron."

"House," Cuddy warned, narrowing her eyebrows maliciously.

"Oh, fine. Let's go, Cameron," I said, turning around and heading back upstairs.

"Wait, where?" she asked, before following me. I stopped and turned to stare, realizing for the first time just how filthy she was.

"Well, you're going to change: blood really only looks good on Sissy Spacek in 'Carrie'. Then you're coming upstairs. We have a patient."

"Wha... who?"

"Eric Foreman, M.D. 34 year old male, vomited blood," I said over my shoulder.

"We can't differentially diagnose Foreman!" Cameron called out down the hallway. Stopping and sighing, I turned to face her yet again.

"You'd better hope for his sake that we can."

"Bowel perforation."

"Unlikely. He would have a fever.

"Ulcer."

"Would have been in pain for weeks."

"Ruptured hernia."

"No, no, no, you're all wrong!" I groaned, running a hand over my face as Chase, Cameron, and Wilson exchanged glances.

"Tumor," Wilson offered with a shrug.

"The MRI was clean."

"He wasn't actually suggesting that, it's just his job. Gyan-Schett's syndrome," I said, writing it on the board. "Symptoms include infection without fever, vomiting blood, low white cell count and paralysis."

"So he meets one of the criteria. Fantastic, we're set," Cameron spat, crossing her arms over her chest. Ooh, her chest. I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, we're going on a field trip," I stated, walking out of the office and heading towards the ICU, where Foreman lay, asleep. The others caught up quickly as I stepped up to his bed and pulled his toe. A cracking sound alluded to the pop of the air bubble between joints. Foreman never stirred. Squeezing his leg all the way up to his knee without response, I turned, triumphant.

"He's paralyzed?" Chase asked, confused.

"Either that or he's a really heavy sleeper," Wilson responded. Pulling out a pen light from his pocket, he pried Foreman's lids back and shined the light into his eyes. "Pupil's fixed and unresponsive. He's in a comatose state, but still aware."

"Wow, really? Let's mold him into funny figures! Hope you don't mind, Foreman."

"Okay, so he's vomiting blood and he's paralyzed. Labs didn't indicate a low white cell count and there's no sign of infection," Cameron said. "What now?" I shrugged.

"We go home."

"You really should be nicer to people every now and then, you know?" Wilson said as he handed me a tumbler of scotch.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"You can have fun in other places besides work."

"Oh I don't know. I'd say out little rendezvous in the lab was pretty fun," I said, winking. Wilson blushed. "So, I saw Beth on Wednesday. Coughing, Wilson set his drink down.

"Really? Why would she, um, why?"

"She's pregnant."

"Oh Christ..."

"Surprise! I'm going to be a daddy!"

"You're not even funny."

"Really? The girls in college used to love me."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"She has cancer."

Silence.

"What type?"

"Breast cancer, end stage. She came to ask if delivering baby naturally will kill her."

"Of course it will," he said, slouching down into an armchair. "Her white cell count will be too low to support her body with even minimal blood loss associated with childbirth."

"Yeah, I know, I went to med school too."

"What did you tell her?"

"That she was screwed."

"You always had the best bedside manner House. I'm sure that all of her fears were completely assuaged," he scoffed. For a long moment we sat in relative silence. "How does she look?"

"She's gigantic."

"Other than that..."

"She looks the same. Her hair's longer and I think she got braces, but she looks like Beth. What ever happened with you guys?"

"I had an affair with my best friend."

"Oh yeah, I forgot."

"How is that possible? You were there."


	5. Part Five

"You're going to die," I stated plainly, popping an M&M in my mouth. Foreman's eyes grew wide with terror as his face creased with disbelief.

"What? No he's not," Cameron said indignantly.

"Duh," I replied in her general direction. "You're going to be fine. You'll have to take weekly injections of Monixiphan to manage the Gyan-Schett's and I would suggest finding a drinking buddy who can give an accurate history, but other than that, I expect you back at work on Wednesday," I finished with an eyebrow flick. Foreman pursed his lips and nodded shortly.

"You're a bastard," he added as I headed towards the door. Stopping, I turned and smiled.

"Yeah. I know."

"You didn't have to lie to him," Cameron spat as she pushed through the door into my office. Without looking up from my PSP, I rolled my eyes.

"Oh please. Are you going to tell me now that little Eric was horribly scarred and frightened by the big bad doctor? That he's tossing and turning, contemplating his not-so-near death experience?" I asked, looking up and starting slightly. Cameron was practically on top of me. Pushing out of my chair, I stood up to my full height, now effectively towering over her. "Yes?"

"He might have been scared, you don't know that."

"It's not that I don't know, it's more that I don't care."

"Yeah, I know. You make that painfully obvious," she whispered, crossing her arms. "Look, I'm just saying, you should be nicer."

"You're the second person who's told me that in two days and amazingly, I still don't care," I retorted, enunciating the last three words.

"Well you should. Just because you're miserable doesn't mean that..."

"Oh, will you give it up? I get so unbelievably tired of people thinking that they can read me, that I'm so transparent. I'm not tragic, I don't need to be saved, and I sure as hell don't need your critique. But, as long as we're talking about it, how is life, Dr. Cameron?"

Cameron mouthed wordlessly, taking a step back. I was about to get mean and she knew it.

"Still pining over your dead husband? Or did that cease when you realized you were in love with me? I'll bet he's turning over in his grave wherever he is right now. Stop crying," I declared coldly noticing the tears running down her cheeks. "Cut the angst, cut the crap, and grow up. People need a doctor, not a teenage girl crying over a lost boyfriend. You're too good for that."

My last words hung in the air, lugubriously settling to the ground with a thud.

"I hate you."

"I know."

"I mean it this time."

"So do I."

"Why?"

"Because, Cameron, you made me realize that I wasn't miserable. That I'm not miserable," I said quietly, looking down at the floor. "Get out." Nodding, Cameron turned and slipped from my office, crying silently, as I sat back down heavily, allowing my head to collapse forward.

"You didn't have to make her cry," Wilson said as he sat down in front of my desk. I snorted.

"You didn't have to be eavesdropping."

"It's part of my job," he said with a smile, crossing his legs.

"What job is that?"

"As your best friend I'm entitled to listen in on all self destructive conversations."

"Do all best friend's fuck nightly?" I asked, not in the mood to be coy. Rouging around his ears, Wilson coughed and nodded lopsidedly.

"I, um... I'm not sure. My guess is probably not."

"So, then I guess we're not best friends anymore."

"Then what are we? Lovers?" Wilson asked as the door to my office swung open.

"I can come back," Cuddy said, spinning on her heel without stopping and exiting the office as quickly as she had come, a blush tinting her cheeks. I smirked at Wilson, who was grinning, before shrugging.

"Call it whatever you want. The sex is amazing," I said as I stood and grabbed my book bag. "I'm going home."

"It's 4:45..."

"Close enough. Maybe I'll stop by and see Cuddy," I mused with a wink.

"Oh, that sounds promising."

"I'll see you at home," I called out easily.

"You know something?" Wilson asked, jogging to catch up with me. I nodded.

"I have three degrees. I know a lot of things."

"I was right. My philosophy was right."

"That I'm miserable enough to fall in love? You're reaching to call what we do being in love."

Wilson grinned. "Hey, I'll take what I can get." Stepping two more steps, Wilson was three inches from my face before he stopped. "You." Rolling my eyes, I pressed a burning kiss to his lips, completely aware of the hallway full of people watching.

"Whatever," I said, turning and stepping onto the elevator, his kiss still washing over my body. "Whatever," I said to myself.

Whatever.


End file.
